by Robert Wise
His fingers curled at the glimmer of sharp grey.
‘Seven years that watch stayed in my Father’s bedside table. Then they called for him, they called for everyone. The war found him, pulling him away from his armchair while he mulled over drunken thoughts and unforgettable memories. For whatever reason he took that watch with him, right here,’
His eyes wondered away from the watch and toward the melting sky that poured beneath the cabin’s arch,
‘Right here, the place where he would die.’
Felix stared at him.
‘Your Father was killed here?’
‘Three months ago,’ the boy murmured. Felix mulled the question over before finally setting it free from his dry tongue.
‘You said that your Father had taken the watch, how is it that you have it in your hands?’
The boy smiled, his lips parting into a sinister smirk.
‘Exactly,’ he said, ‘how has this watch found its way back to me? When months ago it sunk beneath that mud along with my Father and his friends?’
He began to cry, his head rocking against the cabin wall.
‘My Father is gone and all I have to remind me of him is this, this cursed thing!’
Felix snapped a hand over the boy’s wrist and held out his bandage swathed fingers.
‘That is no way to remember your Father.’
The boy’s watery eyes filled with a strange light, a release of pain. With trembling hands he raised the watch to his lips and kissed at its face, encouraging every tear he had kept in to fall across his pink cheeks and down to his mud prickled chin. The silver band slinked into Felix’s palm and he tucked it into his pocket. He watched the boy ease back onto the bench and close his eyes. Sleep came unusually quickly.
His eyes opened and he welcomed the breeze with a squint. The watch fumbled between his fingers. The boy’s name was lost in the back of his crowded mind. His thumb ran over the pearl facing. He thought about throwing it into the glimmering stream below but decided against it and set it back into the confines of his pocket. Felix sighed and pushed away from the railings. He had had enough with memories for one night.
When Max came into work the next morning he found Felix peeling away the chassis of the tilted motorcycle. The under belly lay bare and without shame, displayed a collection of rusting coils and springs. Max brought in a mug of tea and set it down on the worktop.
‘How’s it going?’
‘It’s coming along,’ Felix huffed as yanked away a tilted spindle.
‘Just ran into Luther, he’s looking well.’
Felix nodded and got to his feet, wiping his oil stained hands on a rag of cloth before sipping at his hot cup of tea.
‘Once we get these pipes and springs all cleaned up we can start reconnecting the chassis. We’ll get her looking as good as new by next week.’
Felix watched Karolin from the corner of his eyes. It had been the first time she had joined the rest of the family for dinner since his return and she played with her soup, barely touching the plate of bread sat in the centre of the table. Klaus wriggled in his high chair, gnawing at the curved end of a loaf with a smile upon his chubby face. Felix cleared his throat and Lena shot him a look as if to say, don’t mention it, don’t bring back her tears. The small, jagged piece of bread fell from Klaus’s fingers and Felix nudged it back towards him and smiled. He saw so much of Sebastian in the toddler, his big blue eyes, his curvy white hair. The chief came to his mind and he remembered that Sebastian had been fond of them though never actually owned one. Karolin sipped at her drink, a feeble sip barely enough to wet her tongue. Her pale face was covered by a fall of wavy brown, her big green eyes hidden beneath a frown of constant sorrow. The war was far from over.
Lena woke him with a nudge.
‘Felix,’ she whispered, ‘Felix.’
As his tired eyes opened and focused on his wife’s face Felix sighed away the flashing ghosts of his nightmares and forced a smile.
‘What is it, my dear?’ he said sleepily.
A tear hit his chin.
‘It’s Karolin,’ she sobbed, ‘she’s gone.’
There was a note, lodged beneath the edge of her pillow. Her words were short, apologetic, heartbroken. An empty picture frame sat on her bedside table. Felix padded over to the cot sitting across the room and ran his hand over his eyes. Klaus squirmed and twisted within the spread of a cotton shawl, his eyes swollen with drying tears. Lena came to Felix’s shoulder.
‘She’ll come back won’t she?’
‘Yes,’ Felix lied, ‘of course she will.’
THE LONGEST WINTER
Years passed. The winter had stayed, despite being unwelcome, and the roads and fields of Stuttgart were hidden amongst a coverlet of snowy mounds. Felix raised the kettle away from a circle of spitting flames and tilted it gently, filling five cups. A chant of warm greetings spilled into the kitchen and
Hugo emerged through the doorway, his coat sprinkled in a shower of fizzling snow.
‘Nice of you to join us,’ Felix said, tipping a small amount of milk into each hazing mug.
‘Apologies brother,’ hushed Hugo as he unfolded a scarf from around his reddened neck, ‘the practice is getting busier by the day, it’s this winter I’m telling you.’
Hugo set his coat down over a chair and warmed his pink hands against one of the mugs.
‘You know you’ve got a congregation of old men out there don’t you?’
Felix smiled.
‘They’re no older than our own reflections.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Hugo said as she snapped away the nib of a breadstick and dipped it gently into his coffee before cramming it into his mouth.
‘Must you?’ Felix chuckled, shaking his head.
‘I hear young Klaus is top of his class.’
‘He’s doing well.’
‘Does he ask, about her?’
Felix ran a hand over his face, his gruff beard pricking against his fingertips.
‘Not yet.’
‘I’m sure he and Elsie will grow to be inseparable. They’re in the same class you for most subjects you know.’
‘If you think I’m going to let my Grandson associate with a Brandt, you’ve got another thing coming.’
They shared a laugh yet Felix’s vanished much sooner than his friends.
‘Something’s troubling you. What is it?’
Felix peered into the flashing glow that flittered in from the living room.
‘It’s Lena,’ he said with a cold decorum, ‘well, you know.’
Hugo tongued his cheek and ran a hand over the gruff bristle of his beard.
‘She’ll be fine, you don’t need to worry. Listen, note down her symptoms and give me the list by the end of tonight. I’ll see if we have anything at the practice.’
Felix nodded appreciatively.
‘Come on,’ said Hugo, patting at Felix’s shoulder, ‘the others are getting restless.’
They sat around a fire, their bellies warm from coffee and laughter. There was Howard, a man of bold structure, his face permanently heated with a cherry red glaze. Max, Hugo, and then there was Luther, a jeweller by trade. A dear old friend who’s every word was muffled by the enormous curl of a moustache.
‘So Howard, I hear you’re going to be the next big thing on the silver screen.’
‘Behind the screen hopefully,’ Howard chuckled, ‘yes, the screenplay is being looked over by producers as we speak, I hope to hear from them soon.’
‘What’s it called?’
‘A fool’s fortune, a simple tale of a man who has everything and then loses it, chasing an impossible dream.’
‘I’m intrigued already,’ Max asserted, ‘I’d like to make a toast.’
The circle of men raised their glasses of coffee and bourbon and watered down whiskey.
‘Here’s to the rare occasion where we all may sit, under a roof, where our family and friends sleep, far away from the evil of war.’
The room fell silent, as though each man was revisiting their own trauma of battle.
‘Here’s to friends,’ Max said, raising his half empty coffee mug.
‘To friends,’ muttered the rest, all but one.
‘Something the matter Luther?’ Hugo enquired.
‘No, no, ‘he countered, ‘I won’t dampen the reunion with politics, not tonight anyway.’ His moustache softened his curt tone.
‘We’re all friends here Luther,’ said Max, ‘say what you want to say.’
‘Am I the only one who wishes to talk about Munich?’
‘Munich is far away from here,’ Max sighed.
‘That doesn’t change the fact that Germany is changing. Over two thousand men marched upon that hall, two thousand followers. Who’s to say it won’t be more next time around.’
‘A radical group is nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary,’ Felix mumbled.
‘With the leadership of Mayr, this radical group could eventually stomp the republic into submission.’
‘The economy is broken,’ Howard said, ‘the people will cling onto anyone who promises to take them to higher ground, the depression has set in. People are desperate.’
‘And the culprits are now under the supervision of those at Landsberg, so what does it matter?’
‘I get the feeling that our good friend Luther is asking us, in a very subtle way, that we must chose sides.’
Hugo said as he slurped into his coffee.
‘Thank you Hugo,’ Luther scoffed, ‘however the NSDAP cannot be ignored, like I said, Germany is changing.’
‘And a failed coup on the government is an incentive to join these so called Nazi’s?’
‘It’s the beginning of something big,’ countered Luther, ‘and I know where I’ll be when it hits.’
‘Standing atop a mass of fallen bodies, bearing a pearly grin and a Nazi flag?’ Hugo’s response was cold. The room fell silent. Felix could tell that Luther’s mind had already been made.
‘Whatever happens,’ Luther concluded, ‘just pray you end up on the right side. The world is no longer a forgiving place.’
Hugo sneered, ‘it never was.’
After the reunion disbanded, Felix sat by the fire, stoking and prodding at the mound of melting logs. He thought about sleep. Coffee occupied his mind. The others had left within a slur of tired goodbyes and the house was now silent, nothing but a few crackles of burning wood and dying flames. Felix eased into his armchair and momentarily substituted the aroma of hot cedar with an intoxicating bourbon straight. He didn’t bother with a glass and tucked the bottle in the grove between his thigh and armrest. He felt the cold swell of tears. The eyes of his mind flickered with the scenes of war. There was a creak in the hallway and he watched as a tiny figure emerged from behind the door.
‘Opa,’ muttered Klaus as he brushed a cuff over his eyes, ‘Opa I can’t sleep.’
Felix smiled and Klaus padded across the wooden flooring and rubbed at his cheeks with the dotted cuff of his pyjama sleeve.
‘And why is that?’ he said, quickly tucking the bottle of bourbon behind the chair.
‘Nightmares,’ Klaus murmured, his words hushed and afraid.
‘Ah,’ Felix smiled kindly. ‘well the thing is with nightmares is they’re not real, you know that don’t you?’
Klaus offered a tired nod and nestled into his grandfather’s lap, taking in a deep sigh before closing his eyes.
‘I dream,’ Felix hushed, ‘sometimes I think that’s the only right thing to do.’
Stuttgart seemed as though it was under some sort of spell. Amidst the vast showers of misty snow, the citizens wandered blindly, their faces bland and their smiles veiled behind a mysterious yet frightful stare of permanent desolation. Felix joined Max at the front of the workshop and began to grapple at the shutters until they shuddered across each, frost stained window. Business was slow. The shop was empty but for the Indian Chief and the dismantled chassis of an Iver Johnson Otto Hess had brought in a few weeks ago. Vehicles were a luxury that few could afford, a depression loomed. Not that that affected Otto, his attempt at hiding the wad of marks tucked inside the silky seams of his inside jacket pocket had been poor and he had chuckled ferociously at Max’s ‘tip’ jibe. Otto came from wealth. His family were distantly related to loyalty and the curbs outside their homes were scattered with ivy green Bentley Tourer’s and a collection of polished Adler’s. The Iver was his cousin’s, a fairly likeable boy, who had skidded off the road whilst soaring through the snow and ended up tangled within a curtain of thorny twigs. The bike was in a bad way but not beyond repair. Felix would take his time with it.
‘Sure I can’t tempt you?’ said Max as they came up to the tavern.
‘No I’d better get back,’ Felix waved, ‘see you in the morning.’
The house was quiet and dim. Klaus greeted him with a hug and then scampered back into the living room where he continued to play with his toy airplane. A shallow fire flickered beneath the stone mantle of the fireplace.
‘Lena?’ Felix called up the stairs. His foot met the first step.
‘Lenny?’
Felix leant into the living room. There was a noise, not quite a whistle but a high pitched sizzle, coming from the kitchen. He slipped past Klaus and through the doorway where he was greeted by the sight of a rise of steam that had clambered across the window above the stove. The kettle shuddered and shook above a tickle of aggravated flames. Felix snapped it away by its handle and set it’s smouldering bottom over one of the cooler hobs before blowing out the ring of fire and heading back towards the wordless stairwell.
‘Opa,’ Klaus gurgled.
‘One moment,’ Felix said calmly, ‘just one moment my dear.’
He took to the stairs with speed at first and then slowed towards the landing. An anxious murmur filled his stomach. A chill of warm light groaned across the hallway. His fingers met the handle.
‘Felix.’
Her words were short and tired and she lay within a tangle of lavender sheets, a band of frail fingers reaching out towards Felix’s peering stare. He rushed to her side and offered a glass of warm water to her quivering lips. She withdrew after two or three short sips and felt gently at Felix’s shoulder.
‘Get H-Hugo,’ she spluttered, ‘please.’
A curtain of beaded sweat had gathered below her hairline and her skin glowed with an abnormal warmth. Felix placed a hand on her cheek and kissed at her nose before racing back into the hallway and then down the stairs until he reached the telephone. The receiver felt heavy upon his palm and he stabbed at the trawl of circling numbers until a drone filled his ears. The call dropped.
‘Hello, operator.’
‘Yes, Doctor Brandt, please. Please hurry.’
THE SOLDIER WITH TWO LIVES
There was a roaring blaze, not ten feet away. Flares took to the skies. Sparks of brilliant red tumbled down onto the hellish battlefield below. He shunned with a sudden turn as a wave of ash fell into the digs and drowned the inhabitants below. The ladder quivered under his paused heels.
‘You’re sure about this, Kalb?’
He didn’t look back but nodded, placing his foot up onto the next rung.
‘I’m sure.’
The two men beside him swung their rifles into their shaking chests, rattling the band of ammo that hung at their shoulders. They were beyond fear. They stood at the gates of a frozen hell.
‘Ready!’ a voice yelled. The ladders rumbled as their occupants proceeded further towards the breach. Bullets licked through the air overhead. He pried his gaze away from the jagged edges of iced up bank and glared into the night sky. Smog hovered above, vanquishing any splendour that the starry canvas may have once offered. With a sharp twist he undid the button that sealed his breast pocket and pulled out a tiny silver necklace. Kissing at the cold cluster of beads, the soldier shut his eyes and whispered a few words before tucking them back into his pocket. A whistle pierced the air. His hands
gripped at the posts lining the trench and he pulled himself over the embankment. The other two followed, staying close behind. Felix squinted into the smog. Mud clung to his boots, dragging him down, forcing him closer and closer towards the steaming pits of swallowing gloop. There it was. The first mark, a fallen tank, it’s tread ripped and tangled within a jumble of curling barbed wire and sludge. They took shelter behind it’s battered frame. The air was hot and burned with an impossible humidity.
‘Third...’ An explosion rocked the ground and a barrage of metallic noise clanged against one side of the tank causing the front end to tilt slightly and edge into the newly formed pit.
‘Third blockade,’ Felix repeated with a muffled gasp. His comrades nodded and set their neck scarf’s over the bridge of their noses. They broke away again, greeted by a storm of whistling gunfire. Embers could be seen in the distance, gurgling behind a film of rising smoke. Felix found the sight to be quite enticing, similar to a smouldering mirage in the distant, unreachable realms of a vast stretch of desert. The thought slipped away and Felix found himself nearing the second mark. A shower of fallout sieved overhead. With a hand planted firmly upon the crown of his helmet, Felix turned to the others and urged them to crouch beneath the burning wreckage of lost artillery. According to the brother’s description the third mark wasn’t far, a stacked stretch of wood, wrapped within a vine of barbed wire.
‘How will I know where to look?’
‘Third barricade, I-it’s a long bank of fallen wood, stuck in the mud. Look for the flag.’
Nothing was for certain. The wasteland shifted and devoured anything that was unfortunate enough to get stuck within its grasp. Felix set his rifle over a platform of bent out steel and aimed blindly into the mist. There was a serrated structure, towering through the smog like a rise of flittering grey, lingering in the blurred distance. That was it. The third mark. A mutter of voices could be heard, a foreign whisper. Felix took up the rifle and scuttled past the hunch of his companion’s shoulders, peeking past the furthest corner. With a clenched fist he rapped upon the steel plate covering his chest, instantly attracting the attention of the others. He gestured that one take the opposite corner and the other ascend upon the clutter of melted steel. They waited, staring along the long snout of the rifles. When the first shadow emerged, Felix yanked quickly at the trigger and the silhouette vanished into the swamps below. Four more followed, each downed by the stalling formation. Felix knocked against his chest once more and scrambled off into the darkness. His rifle began to feel heavy. A screech soared through the air, a high pitched whistle that hurtled to a sinking thud just ten feet away. He lost his footing and fell to one knee, quickly straightening up and sheltering his face away from a surge of splintering wood and scrap steel. The rise was close and he ducked down, desperately trying to overlook the zap of flickering bullets. Felix squinted, frowning against the mist as he neared. A pale face sat beneath the bank, a frail hand raised above his tilted head. A flag sat by his shoulders, the body of red fabric burning with an unmoveable stillness. Felix arrived at his boot and checked the darkness up ahead before resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder.